A Poem for School
by DoraCatBuu
Summary: Dudley's class decides to write poems of what is most valuable to them for an assignment, and Dudley decides to write one about his feelings after leaving Harry for good before his seventh year at Hogwarts, which he ends up sending to the wizard.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. J K Rowling does, and she's a genius for this wonderful series! She is my inspiration.

It was never easy for him, once Dudley thought about it. It was never easy to just accept that he was related to a wizard, related to magic, but it was part of him. That year, he had left his cousin, the wizard he feared, alone to battle what he knew was the fiercest enemy Harry had to face, and on that day, that hateful, cruel day, Dudley's class was assigned to write a poem on what they valued the most about their lives. Dudley had been pacing his room, trying his best to decide what to write. Nothing mattered much anymore. His life had changed so much since Harry left, forcing himself and his parents to be taken by the Ministry. He had been confused, scared, and most of all, he _missed_ Harry. Pulling out a piece of paper, he began to write what he felt.

'_A fear, a terror, and an abomination to my mind_' he scribbled, '_And yet, at the same time, a safety, security, and an art in our world...'_ Dudley's nose scrunched up. Never before had he written like that, but it was what he felt. If it weren't for that, he'd have crumpled the damn thing up and tossed it. But, he continued on. This was important, not just for his schoolwork, but for himself. He had to let these feelings go. After all, he told Harry just a portion of what he felt, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Not for him.

'_I hated you, I despised you, and I wanted to bring you down. And yet, at the same time, you had saved me from a fate worse than death,_' he wrote on, his hand shaking as he remembered the encounter with the dementors, '_I bullied you, I mocked you, I made you miserable. And yet, you never left me when I needed you. I was a bully, a tyrant, and a thug. You were a wizard, a hero, and the only one who helped me. But why? Why help me at all when I made you so miserable?_' He stopped for just a moment as his quill, which he stole as a memento from Harry, dried. He dipped it into the ink he bought. He hated seeing his writing, but he wouldn't throw it away. No, Harry would've been disappointed, even if he didn't voice it. Dudley sighed, continuing on.

'_Was it because I was your cousin? I certainly never treated you as such. No, you were a nuisance, and a freak, and never once did I ever appreciate what you did for me... until now,_' Dudley's eye twitched, as the sun blared through his window in the autumn afternoon, '_You had a chance to let me die, and you never took it. You had a chance to let me suffer, and you shunned it away. You had, just now, the chance to watch as we were dragged away, had a chance to see if we would be blown apart for our ignorance... and you begged them to help us. Why, my cousin? Why would you do this for me?_' Dudley had to stop writing; his hand was cramping up as he tried to think of how to put his feelings into words. He was no Shakespear. And yet, his poem sounded more and more unlike him as he continued on. Was it really because of what Harry had done, or was he actually this kind, somewhere on the inside? He didn't know, nor did he even really want to. He turned to his door, which was partly closed.

"Mum, can you get me some water!?" he called, and immediately after, Petunia Dursley slipped in with a cup of ice-cold water, setting it on the desk as she looked at Dudley's writing. Not that she knew _what_ he was writing, just that she saw that he was.

"Oh, is my little Dudders writing a story?" she asked, pinching Dudley, and for some reason, he was becoming vaguely annoyed with that, "Oh, I should tell your father and look to get it published!" Then, she rushed out of the room to let Dudley continue. Dudley merely shook his head; he didn't want anyone to have to see this if he could avoid it. Then... why was he writing it at all? For Harry, damn it. He was writing to connect to the one cousin he did have, even if he bullied him and feared him terribly.

'_The reason did not matter that day, for when you begged them to take us, you showed me the one thing I myself never possessed: Mercy. You showed mercy for our lives, for no reason whatsoever. You had no reason to do that, in fact, I would understand if you blew me up yourself_,' Dudley frowned, knowing this was true as he continued on, '_But you didn't. You did the right thing, and for that, I write this now. I am sorry, Harry, for what I did. I know it was wrong, but I took the easy way and did it anyway. It was easier. It was easier to say you weren't part of me, to say you were just some orphan living with us, but that wasn't the truth._' Dudley scrunched his nose again. His poem was sounding more like an apologetic note, but it was what he felt. There was no lie, even if he could never admit it. Sighing as his quill dried again, he dipped it into the ink and continued on.

'_The truth was, I admired what you did. I admired the courage you showed by going to that blasted school alone, even if I didn't admit it_,' Dudley wrote, eyes watering just slightly, '_I admired that you're facing your demons, even now. I have tried before and failed to face my own demons, cousin, but you give me the courage to try it again, even now, as you fight He-who-must-not-be-named. Oh, sure, I pretended not to care when you mentioned him, but I heard you, my cousin. I heard the name, I heard the fear, I heard every ounce you fed me, and I held it in case I needed it. Sure, I won't be battling him, but I might as well be right now, as I sit and write this to you._' He stopped again, forcing himself to drink his water. Then, he looked in his mirror. His face was red with emotion, but not anger as usual. No, he was clearly reflecting, something he had never done before. And, he liked it. He liked to think on things like this. Screw watching the television, which is what he _would_ have been doing. This was more substantial to him. He looked at the paper again, and set back to work after downing the last of his glass.

'_Yes, this poem. A letter, more so. I ask myself, right then and there, why am I writing to you? You cannot hear me, you cannot hear these words, and yet I write them as though they will give YOU the strength you give me,_' Dudley wrote, smiling wryly at the thought that he could ever help Harry with anything, '_I have but one answer, cousin. To show you that I have courage, too. That, just like you, I face my demons, and will do so from now on, as you are now. As you stand in that school, facing He-who-must-not-be-named, I will stand here, facing my feelings and shame with valor. Sure, it's not entirely the same battle, but it is a battle nonetheless, correct? All battles mean something. Win, lose, draw, the victory or defeat means nothing. All that matters is if we tried and did our best._' Dudley slowed, and then frowned again. That wasn't a truly warming thing to say. Harry was facing _actual_ demons, and Dudley was facing feelings. To say the end was the same was wrong, and he knew it instantly. But, would Harry understand?

'_I know you will try. You always did, Harry. Even when mum yelled, or dad went after you, you still tried. You never once gave up, on this life or on He-who-must-not-be-named,_' Dudley wrote, and smiled again. That felt right to say, and feeling renewed confidence, he continued, '_Even as Sirius died... yes, I remembered his name... even as he died, you continued onward. Even as your own teacher perished, you drove on. Even as you lost your friends, one way or another, you never stopped. I was proud, my cousin, when you told me. I feigned anger and insolence, but I was proud. I waited for your letters to say what had been going on. Surely, you never expected, but I did. It was like a fairy tale, but oh so real and so far from my mind._' He laughed. That was too true; everything in Harry's world, in the Wizarding world, was too far for Dudley to ever reach, even if he and Harry were actually close friends. Silently, he wished that they were.

'_My mind was filled with nothing but television and hatred to you. Those are the demons I face now, and if I could see He-who-must-not-be-named, I am sure my demons would resemble him. Like you, I will try to stop them. I've no spells, no courage, nothing but my feelings for you, cousin, and that's what I pray will help me stop them,_' he wrote, smiling more as he began to like how his poem was sounding, '_Your feelings are your own. You may feel hatred, or pity, or even scorn at my cowardice, and that is fine with me. I was a coward for treating you so badly. I should have extended a hand, made to be a comrade, but I was spoiled, and I'm sorry. Those things weaken me, my cousin, and the courage you showed, not deserved by myself, I pray, will bring strength to my soul as I fight this battle._' He had never felt this way about himself, and as Dudley looked into his mirror, he noticed the features in his face changed, just so slightly. Sure, he still had his pudgy cheeks and nose, but the venom in his face was gone as he wrote to Harry through his homework. He looked... proud. He was proud to convey his emotions like this. Was he winning the battle he mentioned? Dipping his quill again, he set to work quickly, racing for time.

'_This battle of mine will be easily won, cousin, and when it is, I will pray for you as well. You, who are my courage and hero, you, who saved my life, I will pray for. I haven't prayed since I was small. Perhaps God himself can't hear me, but I will damned well try for you to succeed,_' he scribbled, brows furrowed in concentration, '_I kid not when I said you were no waste of space. In fact, now, I would give my space for you to live and be safe from your demons. But, that would hinder you even more. I suppose... that would be another cowardly attempt on me. Damn my old ways, my cousin! Fight this demon of yours, and be the hero you have always been to me. Let us show each other that we can handle the world and their demons. You with your demons, and me with my feelings._' Dudley stopped again, and thought carefully about what to say next. He had more to give, but what about? He wanted Harry to know he was proud, which he stated. Then, it hit him. He would entrust the last of his poem, his opinions of the battle itself, to Harry. Let it be his last memory, if he ever saw Harry again.

'_But, when it is done, my feelings will mean nothing to me if you don't survive, my cousin. My feelings revolve around you and your demons, and though I pray, I know, if faced in your situation, I would run. So, cousin, defeat your demon and free us both from its web of terror and hatred. Free us, for I cannot do both, even if I was a Wizard, like yourself,_' Dudley wrote, '_Wizard can mean many things, but many things, I am not. I am no hero to you, I am no Wizard to them. I am a boy, desperate to reach out for forgiveness to you, my own cousin. On your own, you have dealt with many perils, and you are stronger than I could ever be. On your own, you have become the terror and the inspiration that writes this for you. On my own, I could never stop He-who-must-not-be-named. On my own, I have created turmoil and hindered you too much for mercy. On my own, I would never be able to even stand to what you face._' Dudley sighed, feeling his poem was nearly done. He wiped the sweat he collected off of his forehead. But, there was one more thing he needed to write, one last bit of feeling he could give. He dipped his quill for the final time.

'_...and I am too afraid to try_,' he ended it, and set the quill down. He stood up, reading over the entirety of his work. It was hard to believe it came from him, but it was his from beginning to end. It was all from him, and he would send this work of art, for everyone to see and to know. He went into his parents' room to grab an envelope... and then stopped when he saw a piece of parchment paper Harry had used that summer to write to Hermione. His breathing slowed, and grabbing another envelope, along with the parchment, Dudley ran back to his room and wrote his poem down a second time. When the first draft dried, he folded it, making it ready to hand in tomorrow. But, the second copy, he rolled up and put in the envelope. Breathing deeper, he unlocked a cage in the back, where he kept a small owl, caught only because of its young age. He tied the small envelope to its leg, and walked to the window.

"...if you can, bring this to Hogwarts, to Harry Potter," he told the owl, hoping that if he had just an ounce of magic, it would work now, "Bring it to him, please. I... I ask only this, and I will never meddle in the Wizarding world again." The owl tilted its head, and as Dudley opened the window, the owl flew out and into the horizon. Dudley simply sat down, and waited. Two days later, his poem had won as class favorite, but that barely mattered as he came home and went right to his room. He simply sat on his bed, and waited for his owl. Only time would tell if it made it to that magical school, where Dudley could never go.

--(Aftermath)

"I can't believe all of the backlog we have!" Ron exclaimed, as their owls flew in the window, "And to think, with all that happened this year, we'd ever get mail again!" It was true. The battle at Hogwarts, that year, had backlogged not only the school schedules and classes, but their mail as well, and it came down in the thousands for all the kids to read. Owls upon owls flew in, either dropping the mail in the food, or simply waiting until a spot was cleared. Harry looked up, and simply snorted as Hermione caught a newspaper.

"I'm not _entirely_ surprised," she said, as she opened the paper, "Honestly, Ron, we just saved the entire Wizarding world, and all you care for is mail?" Harry snorted again as Ron stuck his tongue out at her, wincing as an owl dropped off a rather huge stack for him, most of it from Mrs. Weasley. He couldn't wait to read what all of it was, except that he knew it was probably nothing good.

"Hey, for all I know, I could've gotten fan mail!" Ron snapped back, "...or about a million Howlers..." Hermione laughed hysterically as Ron put his pile on the floor, and then looked over at Harry, who was in the middle of eating a piece of pie.

"Did you get anything, Harry?" she asked, and Harry glanced over. He didn't take a look, but then again, he never really received any mail, either.

"Why bother looking? I doubt anything is worth reading," he said, as Ron pointed and said, "Spoke too soon, mate. Special delivery." Harry looked up, and a small owl no one recognized came through the window, wings ruffling as he spiraled down and dropped a tiny envelope off near Harry's plate. Harry blinked. Who would send for special delivery?

"Who's it from?" Ginny asked, looking over his shoulder. Harry blinked again. It was a handwriting he never recognized, either. Silently, he opened the envelope up, and unrolled the contents. A small note was attached to a piece of parchment, and Harry's mouth dropped.

"It... it's from my cousin," he whispered, "From Dudley." Everyone's eyes widened as Harry proceeded to read the poem enclosed. Ron glanced, and snorted, but Hermione nudged him and he said nothing. Harry read it, unable to believe Dudley wrote it all, but it was definitely Dudley's handwriting. And, it addressed him. Had he really written this for his school? Harry didn't know, but he had no reason to not believe the note. But... it was such a beautiful poem. Had Dudley hidden it for seven long years? Harry smiled slowly, wrapping the parchment up. That was going in his trunk, to be kept safe. It didn't matter that Dudley had been so cruel before. It had lessened over the years, and now, was non-existent. Harry stood up, and without another word, left for the boys' dormitory. He walked up the stairs, through the halls, and past the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. It was empty, which he was glad for as he went up the spiral staircase into the dormitory he intended. He sat at one of the desks, and taking out a quill and another piece of parchment, he began to write a reply. He didn't know how long ago Dudley had written the poem, but he hoped Dudley didn't mind the lack of response to it. It really was beautiful. He wrote what he thought of it, asking if it won the contest, and that he'd visit either that summer or the next, but only if Dudley met him at the train station, and only alone. He didn't want to try and patch a relationship with his aunt and uncle. It would be too difficult; they would never change their opinion of him, even if Dudley obviously had. He couldn't take trying to make them, because...

'_Like you, Dudley, I am too afraid to try,_' With his own note being finished, Harry walked back down to where Dudley's owl waited, and sent the reply off. Only time would tell if they would ever cross paths again.

--(End Chapter)

And so, my first Harry Potter oneshot is finished! I actually got this idea walking my dog this morning, and suddenly thought, 'Well, it's not entirely cool that we don't know what becomes of Dudley, now is it?' So, I came up with this. I know Dudley probably would never actually write down any of this, but it just came out so wonderfully, and it seemed so heart-felt, part of me really wanted to see Dudley reconcile his relationship with Harry. This was my attempt at it, and I hope I did all right. I'm sorry if I misspelled anything, it's been a good few months since I read any of the books, and I'm too lazy to go sifting through my bookcases for them. So, click that Review button and tell me what you think!


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